


Sea Change

by OfRooksandOrchids



Category: Le Silence de La Mer (2004)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:09:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23438980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfRooksandOrchids/pseuds/OfRooksandOrchids
Summary: What if Werner's request for a transfer to the Russian Front was denied by his superiors because they deem him too valuable an officer of the occupation force to risk on the front lines? What if he stayed in the village after the canon events of the film? Could he and Jeanne  start over and build a relationship? Where will Werner's disillusionment ultimately lead him?Canon divergent/AU: This story changes things up a bit insofar as the film's ending is concerned. Jeanne and Werner never say their adieus; rather, Werner leaves the house before they have their moment to speak, too shaken by the deaths of his friends, the attempt on his life, and too busy wrestling with his own crisis of faith to say a proper farewell.
Relationships: Jeanne Larosière/Werner von Ebrennac
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another story that I was going to wait until I had finished to post, but we need stuff like this so much now that the world is all helter-skelter. I'll post chapters as I finish them. 
> 
> Be safe and healthy, everyone!

Werner tried not to fidget like a schoolboy who had been summoned to the headmaster's office while Kommandant Nebel perused his transfer request. The oberstleutnant's expression was one of perfect neutrality, giving him no indication of what the older man was thinking. He could have been mulling over what to have for dinner that evening for all Werner knew. He had been granted a meeting with the lieutenant colonel as soon as he had asked for one. It was, he supposed, good to be a favorite of your superior. 

Hopefully he'd get what he wanted, which was, at present, to get the hell out of the village and as far away from Jeanne Larosière as possible. Not because he didn't love her, mind. It was because he was so head-over-heels that he had to put some distance between them. He had to get his head on straight where she was concerned. He had narrowly avoided death the morning before and he was still reeling. He couldn't think. He couldn't close his eyes without hearing that deafening explosion, without seeing his friends' mangled corpses, without seeing poor Franz unconscious on the ground where he had been thrown from the vehicle by the sheer force of the bomb. Never mind that Jeanne and her impassioned piano playing had saved him from getting into the car. Never mind that he was still alive. Werner's entire world felt as if it had been turned upon its head. He had been completely unable to sleep the night before (he had been given a room in the Kommandant's appropriated chateau while the Gestapo worked to ascertain the depth, if any, of the Larosières' involvement with the bombing) and he was grateful that the Kommandant had allowed him to sit during their interview. He knew he didn't have the energy to stand stiffly at attention while his future was decided. Not without falling over. 

Werner was a wreck physically, emotionally, and mentally. No sense in trying to deny it or in bothering to hide it. He was so tired and his nerves were a hairsbreadth from snapping, so taut were they stretched. He kept seeing Jeanne's eyes, her lips so subtly, almost imperceptibly, forming the word "no" to stop him from walking out the door to his certain demise. 

A part of him was angry at her. As much as he wished he could believe otherwise, it was terribly obvious that she had known about the car bomb. It had to have been placed in the Mercedes' undercarriage the night before right under everyone's noses. Somehow, she had known, though the Gestapo had cleared her and her grandfather, thanks in no small part to his, Werner's, having vouched for them. 

She had known and done absolutely bloody goddamned nothing! She had known that the local resistance wanted to kill him. Wanted to murder him in cold blood and yet she hadn't opened her mouth to warn him as soon as she'd realized what was set to occur. How could she have taken such a risk with his safety? Werner had been so certain that Jeanne returned his tender feelings, but now.... 

Now he wasn't so sure. Had she really been prepared to let him be killed? Could she really have stood by and watched that happen? What kind of a person did that? How could she? How could anyone? War or no, life was sacred, be it French or German. There was a tremendous difference between meeting one's enemy in battle and being the victim of killers who didn't have the integrity to look their victims in the eye. 

Dear God, how could she have done that to him? And how could he have been so naive to believe that she could love him, believe that there could ever be a future for them? What the hell was wrong with him? 

Werner felt sick and shaky, like he was caught up in a nightmare that he couldn't wake from. Was this what the prelude to a nervous breakdown felt like? 

"Request denied, Herr Hauptmann." Kommandant Nebel's voice rang with an uncompromising finality that startled Werner out of his swirling thoughts. "A transfer to the Russian Front is completely out of the question." Nebel took off his wire-framed glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose as though trying to stave off a tension headache. "My God, man! Whatever possessed you to place such a thing in my hands? I'm shocked, quite frankly. You've never given me any indication that you're unhappy here, or unsatisfied with your duties. You're very valuable to me. Your work is exemplary and the men look up to you and admire you. What on earth could make you want to transfer to a combat unit in that hellhole? I've never taken you for a man harboring a death wish. Is this anything to do with the, er....unfortunate events of yesterday? You may speak freely, Captain von Ebrennac. We won't stand on ceremony. Whatever we discuss doesn't leave this office."

Werner sat back in his chair and tried to relax. The Kommandant was a compassionate man, one of those rare officers that genuinely cared for the men under his command and did what he could to make their burdens, both personal and professional, easier to bear. Werner forced himself to meet his superior's gaze and what he saw in the other man's eyes encouraged him to speak his mind. Nebel was concerned, deeply so. He put Werner in mind of a worried father who was about to watch a troubled, and yet still beloved, son make a terrible mistake that there'd be no coming back from. 

"Herr Kommandant," Werner took a deep breath, marshalling his wits to express himself as concisely as he could at the moment, "I feel it's my duty to-" 

"Stop right there," Nebel interrupted, holding up a hand. "Don't sit there and give me the 'it's my duty to do such-and-such' party line. That's utter rot and we both know it. It's to do with that young lady, isn't it? Fraulein Larosière? The one that you told the Gestapo wasn't a part of the plot to blow you sky-high."

Werner sighed inwardly. Damn Nebel's proclivity for being able to get right to the heart of any matter, leaving no room for prevarication or subterfuge. Normally, the man's perceptiveness was something he both admired and appreciated. "No, sir. At least not entirely."

"Not entirely? Please do clarify." 

"I can't stay here anymore," Werner stated flatly. He had been invited to speak freely, after all. "Two of my friends are dead and my orderly, who is like an older brother to me, is lying in hospital badly hurt. He's going to be scarred for life, assuming he recovers. And I....." Werner felt his throat constrict and he found he couldn't continue, not without losing his composure. He cast his eyes down, blinking back emotion. He willed himself to hold it together. He had never in his entire thirty-four years of life felt so fragile. It was incredibly disconcerting and not like him at all.

Nebel heaved a sigh. "You feel guilty that your friends were killed and your orderly wounded so grievously. You sit there now and think it should have been you. You torment yourself with the question of why them and not me? I've seen it before, young man. Experienced it a fair few times in my career, matter of fact. As to the Larosière girl, well, I think I understand what's going on there and that's none of my business. Who my men choose to entangle themselves with is of no concern to me unless it directly undermines the objective of this garrison, which is to hold this town and maintain stability in the region. Is Fraulein Larosière a hindrance to you performing your duties, Captain von Ebrennac? You've resided with her and her grandfather for what, three months now? Your service has been impeccable the entire time. And yet, here we are. You would throw your very life away because of resistance rabble doing what rabble does best. Their days are numbered. The SS will root them out and deal with them appropriately. I'm very sorry for your loss, truly, but can you sit there and tell me that your friends would be happy to see you throw your life away because you're feeling guilty about not dying with them? That you're feeling guilty because you fell in love with the wrong girl? I rather doubt it."

She's not the wrong girl, Werner wanted to say. Jeanne was the right girl at the wrong time. Instead he said, "Fraulein Larosière has become a distraction, Herr Kommandant. A distraction from my duties to you and to the Fatherland." Werner nearly winced. Dear God, how sanctimonious did that sound? He'd give an SS man a run for his money. 

It didn't help matters at all that he could still hear his dead friends' recriminations in his head; their mocking him for his idealism and his conviction that victory over a people, a nation, didn't have to lead to humiliation for the vanquished. 

Nebel shook his head, bemused. "Oh, Captain. Didn't anyone ever bother to teach you that a little distraction never hurt anyone? Especially in times like these." He gestured between them. "When we're off-duty and these uniforms come off, we're allowed some joy, some pleasure. We're not mindless automatons, or little tin soldiers bereft of a soul. Most of the men would be quick to jump if a girl like Fraulein Larosière so much as glanced in their direction. I can tell by the expression on your face that there's something between you and that young lady; on your side, at least." Nebel pursed his lips. "Tell me again, if you would, just how it was that you avoided getting in that car."

"Fraulein Larosière was playing her piano." Werner's voice took on a faraway quality as he recalled the previous morning. Recalled coming down the stairs to leave for work only to be stopped in his tracks by a particularly energetic melody and Jeanne's nearly manic stare as she caught his eyes and he'd been all but rooted to the spot. "The music caught my attention." Werner chose his next words extremely carefully. Jeanne had been exonerated. It wouldn't do to suggest, even indirectly, that she had, in actual fact, known of the assassination plot. "I was surprised to hear her playing. She hadn't touched her piano in months. She was playing a piece that's a favorite of mine. I couldn't tear myself away. It was too beautiful. I got distracted and my orderly started the car.....And what happened, happened." 

"See what I mean, Captain?" Nebel spread his hands wide like a university professor concluding some great lesson. "A little distraction never hurt anyone. Indeed, it saved your life. You owe that girl for her most excellent musical recital." 

Werner couldn't argue with that. "Yes, sir. I do."

"You owe her your life. And I will be damned if I allow you to go and throw that life away under a barrage of Soviet artillery out of some sense of grossly misguided survivor's guilt. Hence why this," Nebel held up the transfer request, "is most vehemently denied." Rising from his chair, the oberstleutnant tossed the paper into the fire that sputtered on the hearth. His office had once been a modest room on the ground floor of a hotel that had become the garrison's headquarters and the fireplace was a nice luxury to have during what was turning out to be the worst winter in recent memory. "You will remain here as my adjutant and go about your duties as per usual."

Werner was at a loss. "But, sir-"

"But nothing, Captain!" Nebel barked, fixing him with a look that clearly said that the matter was no longer up for discussion. "Do you know how things really are on the Eastern Front? No? Well, then. Permit me to enlighten you. The temperature's many, many degrees below freezing. It's so bitterly cold that vehicles, trucks, tanks, anything with wheels and a motor, refuse to start. Guns and artillery freeze and won't fire, and I'm given to understand that frostbite has reached epidemic proportions. The soldiers there actually named the cold 'General Winter,' and he sounds like a most unforgiving superior officer to have. High Command would have my guts for Herr Heydrich's new bow strings for telling you this and tarnishing their precious propaganda, but I feel it's incumbent upon me to furnish you with the facts. Our most recent casualties report suggests that nearly 700,000 men have, as of November, died in that frigid hellscape. Are you really that keen to join that number? Because you damn well would! You, sir, are no hardened combat soldier. I'm not insulting you. I'm well aware that you won the Iron Cross, but very few of our soldiers could survive a month there. So I say again: request denied. We will speak of this no more. Do you understand me?"

Werner was far too exhausted to argue. He had known going in that his request stood little to no chance of being granted. He felt nothing now one way or the other; not disappointment, not relief that he had been stopped from doing something that he knew to be foolish. He looked up at the oberstleutnant. "Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."

Nebel nodded briskly and resumed his seat. "Very well, then. I am, however, willing to entertain a discussion as to where you would be the most comfortable living. The chateau is enormous, so you're quite welcome to a suite of rooms there. But if you should prefer to return to your lodgings under the Larosières' roof, I am amenable to that arrangement, as well. It's up to you. If you like, I could find another place if neither of those options appeal to you."

"I would like to remain at the chateau, Herr Kommandant. Your offer of a suite is very generous. Danke." Werner couldn't imagine returning to the Larosière house. Not after all that had happened. Besides the obvious awkwardness, there was the danger of the local resistance having at him again. He was a marked target now. He would be much safer behind the gates and high walls of the chateau under the watchful eyes of the Kommandant's security detail. 

He liked the idea, too, that the chateau was also mere steps from the seashore. He had made the discovery the night before that he could hear the ocean waves crashing from where he lay in his bed. It had been very soothing; a sound he could definitely get used to falling asleep to every night. 

"Everything is settled, then," Nebel said. He rose from his chair, Werner following suit. "I'm granting you three days off. You look like you need it. You've been through quite the ordeal. Go and collect your belongings from the Larosière house and then indulge in some rest and relaxation. I daresay you're still in shock and not wholly fit for duty. You're dismissed, Captain."

Werner snapped to attention and clicked his heels. "Yes, sir. Thank you." So saying, he took his leave. 

Outside, Werner took a deep bracing breath of chilly air, replaced his cap, and adjusted his scarf. Now to find his new orderly and direct the man to accompany him to the Larosière house to retrieve what few belongings he'd not taken when he'd left in a hurry yesterday. He would be happy to have another person with him. He supposed it might be a touch cowardly, but he just didn't feel equal to the task of perhaps encountering Jeanne or her grim-faced old grandfather on his own. Not now, anyway.

He had so much to consider going forward. He would need his three-day leave to reorder his topsy-turvy life and no mistake. He felt like he had been dragged out to sea by a powerful undertow and was frantically trying to break free to swim back to shore, trying to keep from being swept under.

He was, he knew, in dire need of someone to throw him a lifeline, or else he'd surely be consumed by the depths of a cold, black, and silent ocean that wouldn't like to give up her dead.....

To be continued.......


	2. Chapter 2

Luck had been with Werner when he and his new orderly (whose name escaped him at present) had arrived at the Larosière house to retrieve his belongings. Neither Jeanne nor her grandfather had been at home. Werner had blessed Jeanne's somewhat peculiar aversion to locking doors and had very quickly run upstairs and gathered his things. He been paranoid the entire time that one or the other would arrive home and had thus set his orderly as a sentry at the foot of the stairs. The young corporal was to inform him immediately if the lady or her grandfather returned. It had taken Werner less than fifteen minutes to accomplish his mission, as it were, and beat a very hasty retreat. It had briefly crossed his mind to perhaps write a short note to Jeanne and leave it where she'd be sure to discover it. 

He had dismissed the notion almost as soon as it had occurred to him. What exactly would he have written, after all? He supposed he could have scrawled a polite message thanking Jeanne and her grandfather for their hospitality, but he had almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of that. They'd tolerated him at best, especially the old man. Hospitality had been non-existent. Or he could have spilled his guts and wrote Jeanne a letter in which he passionately poured his heart out, confessing his feelings in the most ardent language he could muster. But, then again, no. That wouldn't have done, either. He was still unsure how she really and truly felt about him. He knew what he'd thought, but hadn't the last twenty-four hours shown him that nothing had been as it had seemed? Everything he'd thought he knew had exploded along with his car and he had been left utterly lost and floundering. 

Forget letters that could be thrown into a fire without being read. If he and Jeanne ever had the opportunity to sit and have a heart-to-heart conversation in future, he'd speak of his feelings, his doubts and insecurities, all of it, then. When he could look her in the eyes. Putting pen to paper would be wholly inadequate. 

Casting one last look around the room where he had spent some of the better nights of his life and committing every detail to memory (he had meant what he said about being happy in the Larosière home in the company of a dignified old man and silent young lady), Werner exhaled a weary sigh. Almost two days of little to no sleep was rapidly catching up to him and it was past time to go. He left the room and descended the stairs without looking back. The sound of the front door latching shut behind him spoke volumes; he could feel the hollow echo in his very soul. As his vehicle pulled away, he resolutely commanded himself not to glance up into the rearview mirror. 

Best leave the past behind him literally and figuratively wherever he could. 

A short while later, Werner was back in his room in the suite on the second floor of the chateau that the Kommandant had so graciously gifted to him. His new surroundings were nothing short of luxurious; far more fitting for a Prussian nobleman than the Larosières' somewhat ramshackle and rambling farmhouse had been. Besides a beautifully appointed bedroom and bathroom, Werner would be able to enjoy a sitting room which he was pleasantly surprised to see had a small piano set near the west-facing window, an antique silver candelabrum atop it fitted with elegant crimson candles. He smiled at that. It would be so good to play again. One of the great drawbacks to his life as a soldier was the lack of time to devote himself to his music. He couldn't remember the last time he had composed anything, or when he had last spent hours just playing his favorite pieces for his own pleasure, alone and without an audience. 

It would be lovely to be able to lose himself in music. It always helped him to forget the real world for a while.

A dull ache throbbed in his chest as he tried and failed not to think of playing for Jeanne on Christmas night. The knowledge that she was sitting in her chair by the fire possibly enjoying every second of his recital had thrilled him then. He had fantasized about writing music just for her, dedicated to her, his very own muse like Beethoven's fabled Immortal Beloved. He tried a few keys and was satisfied that the piano had been kept well. It fortunately wouldn't need tuning. Over the next few days, he promised himself that he would take some time and seek comfort in Bach, then maybe try to write something of his own. 

All he wanted to do now, though, was take a hot shower and then lie down. He wasn't feeling well and he knew he'd end up in the infirmary alongside of poor Franz if he didn't get some rest. His head ached and it occurred to him that he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. He really was terrible at taking care of himself. No wonder Franz was so prone to mother-henning him. Had his friend been there now, no doubt he'd be lecturing the hell out of his charge. 

He missed Franz tremendously. He would go and look in on him as soon as the chief medical officer gave him the go-ahead to. He'd call in the morning. Werner had, of course, been very upset by his two friends' deaths, but he'd been devastated by Franz being so badly hurt. Though he came across as gruff and intimidating, nothing was further from the truth. Franz's rough exterior masked a heart of gold and one couldn't ask for a more loyal friend. Indeed, they were more like brothers in private than an officer and his orderly. Werner wondered what advice Franz would offer him now as far as Jeanne was concerned. More than likely, he'd tell Werner in very blunt and colorful terms to get himself together first and not worry about some damned girl and her fickle feelings. 

It was funny, in a bittersweet way, how you didn't notice just how much you relied on someone until that person wasn't there when you needed them. 

A glance at the clock on the mantle told Werner he had several hours to himself until the Kommandant would be back. He imagined that Nebel would expect his presence at dinner in the evenings, which wouldn't be a hardship. He genuinely liked the lieutenant colonel and knew he was very fortunate where superior officers were concerned. Some were absolute tyrants, but Nebel was nothing short of a father-figure to his men and he ruled the garrison with a firmness that had its foundations in what was best for his men and for the integrity of their mission, rather than what furthered his own ambitions or contributed to his personal glory. It was officers like Nebel who were keeping Prussian tradition alive and not allowing themselves to become infected by the rabid fanaticism exhibited by so many officers these days, the SS being the worst of the worst. 

Werner would have more than enough time for a long, leisurely shower and a nap before having to concern himself with being presentable and fit social company. He could languish under the hot water for as long as he liked and let it ease the tightness in his muscles that had been bound up in knots since the car bombing. That was going to be heaven. Then he'd curl up in bed and close his eyes for a while. No doubt he'd feel much better afterwards. 

Maybe he could start to untangle the mess his life had become. 

It was time to move forward. If he didn't, he'd drive himself mad. He didn't particularly care to experience a nervous breakdown first-hand. He had to return to the way he had been before he had met Jeanne Larosière. 

Which was much easier said than done.

Bit what choice did he really have? 

Then there was the question of his shattered faith in Germany's cause. His friends had opened his eyes to some brutal truths and he had had his principles shaken to their core. Yet another example of just how goddamned naive he was, he supposed. He was thoroughly disgusted with himself. He'd allowed Jeanne to toy with his feelings and confuse his thoughts. More than that, he had allowed himself to be idealistic in a world where idealism no longer had much of a place. Not unless that brand of idealism conformed to that espoused by the Party and the Reich itself, he amended. He had never been a member of the former, and was in no way blindly serving the latter. To Werner's mind, the Third Reich and Germany were two different things, totally separate entities. A Prussian soldier whose family had served the Fatherland for generations didn't fight for the likes of a lunatic out of Austria; rather, he fought for Germany and its citizens and the sacred land itself. Should push ever come to shove, Werner knew which he'd choose. His honor wouldn't allow him to do otherwise. That was, he imagined, the reason why members of the armed forces, Heer, Luftwaffe, and Kriegsmarine, were forbidden to belong to a political party, why it was illegal. A soldier, an airman, a sailor, they all served Germany, not the individual or group who happened to hold power at any given time. Which was as it should be. 

His late friends had gotten it terribly wrong. Loyalty to Reich and Führer wasn't possible for him now; not after learning what that sort of loyalty necessitated and entailed, what that level of commitment to duty required. It went against everything he had ever been taught, believed in. 

Werner heaved an exhausted sigh, rubbed a hand over his eyes, willing his racing thoughts and tumultuous emotions to calm. He'd sort through it all; just not now. 

He didn't have the strength for soul-searching at the moment. He wasn't sure what he did have the strength for, if he were honest.

How had everything gone so spectacularly wrong? And how the hell did he begin to go about setting his shattered world to rights? 

More to the point: was such a thing even possible? Or even worth it? 

He honestly didn't know and that made him despair all the more. 

To be continued......


End file.
